The Low Sodium Olympics

Every EMS agency has that patient. Ours treated Life Alert like a speed-run button — and she was going for gold.

There was a patient we ran 911 calls on constantly. And by constantly, I mean her Life Alert pendant had a quicker trigger finger than Yosemite Sam.

Chest pain. Shortness of breath. “I fell and can’t get up.”

Lights and sirens. Every. Single. Time.

We’d arrive to find her already staged on the floor — blanket, pillow, fully tucked in like she was camping. No visible injuries. No distress. Just vibes.

She’d insist she couldn’t walk. Legs didn’t work. Gravity had won.

Meanwhile, the actual emergency was usually one of the following:

• She couldn’t find her phone charger

• Her TV needed to be moved six inches to the left

• She was hungry

• Or she wanted company and chose violence instead

• 
  

If EMS dared to ask questions — name, date of birth, what actually happened — it was over.

Full meltdown. Screaming. Crying. Absolute chaos.

Her explanation?

“Low sodium.”

Apparently hyponatremia causes:

• Screaming like a banshee

• Adult temper tantrums

• Weaponizing Life Alert as a concierge service
  

But here’s where the magic happened.

The moment EMS said the words, “Alright, let’s go to the ER,” she’d transform.

Couldn’t walk five seconds ago… but now? Up she’d pop. Light on her feet like a ballerina in The Nutcracker. Grabbing her purse, shoes, phone, and a handful of random bags she “needed,” then launching herself onto the stretcher like a professional high jumper clearing the bar.

No pain. No weakness. No low sodium in sight.

If we suggested alternatives? Rage. If we questioned the “fall”? Rage. If we existed? Rage.

And the ultimate threat — CHEST PAIN. If she didn’t like your tone or felt EMS wasn’t treating her like the Queen of England actively infarcting, she’d start throwing verbal javelins labeled “chest pain.”

But once transport was offered? Miracle recovery. Another successful save.

Somewhere out there, that pendant is still hanging around her neck, patiently waiting to summon EMS for the next true emergency — like rearranging furniture or finding a charger.

Trauma demands humor. Because if we didn’t laugh at this job, we’d lose our damn minds.

Honestly… I miss my arch nemesis. Life Alert and all.

Why This Story Exists

If this made you laugh, cringe, or nod in painful recognition — that’s exactly why Shift Happens exists.

Shift Happens is a dark humor card game created by a Paramedic and RN for first responders who’ve seen some shit and laugh so they don’t break.👉 Check out the game and laugh it off with your crew.